A Hogwarts Christmas Carol
by Karri Potter
Summary: The title is rather self-explanatory. Malfoy is our Scrooge, and many loved and not-so-loved characters are featured as other important players. A modern, magical spin on the classic tale. Like Draco? Like sarcasm and angst? This is the story for you.


Author's Note: Here I return, after many months' absence from the fanfiction world, with a story that's different for me on many accounts. A Hogwarts Christmas Carol has probably been done, or thought of, but here is my version. Draco is our Scrooge, the obvious choice, and he's got issues. The Malfoy angle is new for me, as is the sarcastic tone I've taken on to fit the part. As you may notice, this is not my usual sticky sweetness romance. I'm sticking to Dickens' story, but adding my own little bits to make it interesting. This is also my first chaptered story. There will be five parts, if I am not mistaken. Enjoy, and let me know what you think. Cheers! -KP.

  
  
  
  


Stave One: Quirrel's Ghost

  
  
  
  


"Bah." Draco Malfoy said as he sat down at the Slytherin table. "Humbug."

Goyle looked at him with a familiar "duh" look on his face. "Charles Dickens?" Draco said, "A Christmas Carol?"

  
  


Goyle still looked clueless, so Draco rolled his eyes. Why did he put up with these idiots? Oh, never mind, he knew that one. Because they made him feel superior, something he didn't get a lot of. Especially not at home.

What was this, Psychology 101? Draco shook his head. Snap out of it. Concentrate on your- what was this he was eating, anyway?

Draco pushed away his golden plate and reached for his goblet of pumpkin juice. He wasn't hungry. He rarely was.

Draco pretended to be focusing on the conversation Crabbe and Goyle were having, which would have been incredibly insulting to his intelligence had he deigned to actually listen, and let his gaze wander around the not-so-crowded Great Hall. It was Christmas Eve, and normally Draco would be safe at home- well, he would be home, anyway- with his parents, suffering through yet another boring holiday and pretending to be thrilled about the mountains of expensive gifts he would be receiving. But no. Lucius and Narcissa had to decide to take a trip to Honolulu this Christmas, leaving him stuck at Hogwarts with a handful of other losers who had no place to go home to. 

  
  


Draco was always generally in a bad mood (well, excepting the time Potter had fainted on the train, and the time Weasley tried to hex him and ended up burping up slugs for hours), but this holiday he seemed worse than ever. He didn't know what it was, he should be glad to be escaping his father's "Christmas cheer" this year (Lucius always made sure the eggnog wasn't just eggnog). But instead he felt a big hole in his chest, a vast emptiness that made him feel as though his insides had disappeared. Sometimes he felt himself longing for a loving family, a place he could call home, a real friend. 

But as long as his name was Malfoy, none of that could ever be. And so Draco had hardened himself against all feeling, all emotion. In so thus, he had hardened himself against one of the most celebrated holidays- Christmas.

Draco hated Christmas. Hated all the happiness, the laughter, that seemed to come hand in hand with this time of year. Hated the pretty decorations all-round Hogwarts, hated the Christmas feast, hated the gift-giving and pleasantries. Draco was a regular Grinch.

Draco's gaze settled on the Gryffindor table, where Harry Potter & Co. laughed and talked, clearly without a care in the world. Bunch of saps. They didn't know pain. They didn't know suffering. What did they have to worry about?

Draco knew he was being irrational, but he didn't care. Harry Potter. How he hated that name! For everyone else, it was a hero's name, a symbol of light. To him, it represented someone who had everything he had ever wanted.

True enough, Harry Potter had even less in the way of real parents than he did, but in every other way . . . everyone loved Harry Potter. They greeted him in the halls, cheered for him at Quidditch, clamored to be his partner in classes. But with Draco? He was popular enough with the Slytherin crowd, but that was because they were scared of his power. With everyone else- it was like the name "Malfoy" was a curse, a disease, something to be avoided at all costs. They even said it with disgust. 

"Draco! Draco!"

  
  


Draco groaned. Pansy Parkinson had just arrived. Pansy was over-enthusiastic, over-bearing, over-everything. And she was always sickeningly sweet to him. 

"Merry Christmas, Draco!" Pansy skipped over to him and planted a big wet kiss on his cheek, reminding Draco strongly of Malfoy family reunions with big, coochi-coochi-cooing aunts. He exaggerated wiping his cheek with the back of his sleeve. 

Pansy was not to be put off course. "Having fun this holiday?"

"Humbug." Draco said again, Pansy's cheerful mood annoying him.

"Christmas a humbug, I'm sure!" Pansy took the seat beside him and poured herself some juice.

"What're you so happy for?" Draco asked grumpily. "What's your reason for being so merry? You won't be getting that many presents. Your parents are poor enough."

"What're you so cranky for?" she retorted, still smiling. "What's your right to be so morose? You'll be getting a mountain of gifts. Your parents are rich enough."

"Bah," Draco said, having nothing better to say.

"No, really, Draco, why are you so mad?"

"It's Christmas!" Draco burst out. "Look at all these fools, all happy and celebrating, all the decorations, and presents. What's the big deal about Christmas? Merry Christmas indeed! I think everyone who goes around saying 'Merry Christmas' should have a basilisk set on them!"

"Draco!" Pansy said, shocked.

Draco knew he was going a little to far, but he couldn't help it. It was all getting too much. "Pansy! You go celebrate Christmas your way, and I'll go celebrate it mine!"

"But you don't celebrate it, Draco." Pansy pointed out reasonably. 

"Exactly!" Draco said. "Let me. What good has Christmas ever done you?"

Pansy sobered. "I think Christmas is a fine time of year." she said indignantly. "It's a time when we can all take a break and relax. It's a time for peacefulness. A time to be nice to each other." she said pointedly.

"Oh, bravo." Draco said sarcastically. "What a speech."

The look on Pansy's face changed. "The Yule Ball's starting in a few hours. You're coming with us, aren't you?"

"Me? Go to the Christmas ball with you? When you can snowboard in hell."

Pansy looked hurt. "Why?"

"Why would anyone want to go to a ball with a bunch of giggling empty-headed fluffs?" Draco knew he was being downright mean now, but the words just came out.

"Draco, why are you being so sore? What have I done?"

"Good-bye." Draco said, standing up and pushing his chair back.

"We've never had a real fight, we've never had a reason to. Why are you pushing me away?"

"Good-bye." Draco made to leave, but she grabbed his arm.

"Draco, why can't we at least be friends?"

"Good-bye." Draco said, shaking her off. 

Suddenly Pansy straightened and squared her shoulders. "Well, I don't know what your problem is, but I'm not about to let you ruin my holiday. I'll keep my Christmas spirit to the last."

"Good." Draco said, and turned and walked away.

"Merry Christmas!" she called to his back.

Draco ignored her and kept walking. He passed the Gryffindor table, where Harry and his friends were laughing over some unbelievably funny joke, to be sure. More crazy people with their Christmas spirit. Bah!

He went out into the Entrance Hall but stopped at the telltale lumbering paces of Crabbe and Goyle. "What do you want?"

Crabbe stopped, unsure. "Uh, Draco?"

"Yes?" he replied in the steeliest voice he could muster

Both seemed to shrink back, but Goyle swallowed and spoke. "Well, see, there's this- thing, the students are getting up, see, they wanted us to ask you about it-"

"What sort of thing?" Draco asked snidely.

"Well, Professor Sprout's son was in a broom accident, and needs a special magical pro- pro-"

"Procedure, Gregory." Crabbe cut in, looking extremely proud of himself. 

"That's what I said." 

Draco made an impatient noise.

"Right. Well, it's expe- exp- costly, and they're taking a collection up for Professor Sprout. You get a lot of pocket money, Draco. They thought you could help." Crabbe and Goyle put on matching hopeful smiles.

"Charity? You are asking me for charity?? Never would have thought it of you, boys. I'm impressed." 

"Really?" Crabbe said happily. "Does that mean-"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Draco snapped. "If he was dumb enough to get in an accident, he shouldn't have gotten on his broom in the first place! Don't go bothering total strangers for money for something they had nothing to do with! Good night!"

Crabbe and Goyle slunk off. Draco could almost see the tails between their legs. Imagine Draco Malfoy, giving to charity! What would people think? He was going soft? The guy'd survive. Right? 

Draco ignored his nagging conscience (what- a Malfoy with a conscience?) and continued on down the hall. He passed merry ghosts, tipsy wizards in paintings, and a stray cat with a frilly red ribbon complete with a holly sprig. Damn Christmas cheer. A rusty suit of armor began to sing as he went by. "God rest ye merry gentlemen-" Draco rapped its helmet down. "Shut up."

He didn't feel like going straight down to the Slytherin common room, so he wandered aimlessly through the many halls and passageways of Hogwarts. Opening a plain brown door, he stopped short. 

Harry Potter stopped too. He'd been about to open the door, from the other side, himself. 

The two enemies stared at each other. Harry let out a long, slow breath. "Hi."

Draco regarded him. "Hi." he replied cooly. It occurred to him that this one of the few times he and Potter had happened upon each other when Granger and Weasley, Crabbe and Goyle weren't there. He didn't quite know how to act.

"Uh- getting away from all the commotion?" Potter asked. Clearly, he didn't know how to act, either. 

"Something like that." Draco said. 

"Yeah- all this Christmas stuff gets to you sometimes." Harry said, more to himself than to Draco.

Draco started. "You don't like Christmas, Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "It's all right, I guess. Kind of a family holiday, though, so . . . anyway, I'm sure you love it, with all those presents your rich parents get you-"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco felt a familiar pang of anger in his chest. "That's not what it's all about- I mean, Christmas isn't so great. What would you know?"

Potter frowned. "What?"

"Nothing!" Draco said furiously. He was worked up now. "What have you got to complain about anyway, Potter? You've got a bunch of friends, you're the big Quidditch star, you're rich, the teachers love you- so what if your parents are dead, huh? So what?"

Harry's face flushed. "Don't talk about my parents." he said dangerously.

"I will if I want to!" Draco hollered, ignoring the deepening flush in Harry's cheeks. "So they're not around at Christmas, so what? So you never got to know them. Maybe you don't want to! Not all parents are wonderful, you know. But no, wait, yours were the great Lily and James Potter. Never mind, they were perfect. Of course everyone says they were- now that they're dead!"

Harry lunged. Draco was stunned for a second by the blow, but the rage he felt was unstoppable. He threw the other boy into a heap on the floor. Harry stared wide-eyed up at him. 

"Don't go playing the poor, pathetic orphan with me, Potter. Dead parents aren't the worst kind." Draco was breathing heavily, the fury subsiding a little. He turned and swept from the room. Had he looked back, he would have seen Harry staring after him, with a puzzled and pensive look on his face. But he didn't look back. 

"Bah!" Draco strode down the hall towards Slytherin. He was feeling a lot better now- but what had he done? What stupid things had he said? 

Draco told the wall the password and stalked into the common room, scattering first-years. Zabini looked up from the fire. "Draco?" he said hesitantly. "Are you- growling?"

Draco obliged with a particularly animal noise and continued down to his dorm room. With luck, no one would be there. 

As he reached towards the handle to open the heavy stone door, it suddenly changed shape. "Wha-" Draco whispered. He'd never seen it do that before. The handle was now a head, wrapped in a large turban, glaring at him with stone eyes. Draco stared at it, trying to figure where he'd seen that face before. And then it was a handle again. Draco shook his head. He must be imagining things. 

Draco took off his robe and sat in the little wooden chair by the tiny window in his jeans, rolling his neck and stretching. He needed to calm down. Too bad he hadn't brought any butterbeer with him. 

  
  


Since the Slytherin dungeon was always cold and damp, fireplaces were in every room and always kept going. Draco dragged his chair over near the fire and tried to get warm. He couldn't succeed. There was a cold feeling in the air, different than usual. It was remotely like when there was a Dementor in the area, only not as strong. But Draco had a sensation of foreboding- he couldn't explain it. But he could feel something strange was going to happen. 

  
  


And something did.

There was a strange banging noise coming from outside the room, growing louder and louder. At first Draco passed it off as those dumb kids whooping it up in the common room, but then he began to distinguish a certain sound- something like chains rattling?

Draco looked around uneasily. "It's just Peeves." he reassured himself, but himself wouldn't listen. He stood up and tensed. Something funny was going on . . .

  
  


There was a deafening bang and a ghost burst forth through the stone wall. Not an unusual occurrence around Hogwarts. But this was a ghost Draco hadn't seen hanging around. In fact, the last time Draco'd seen him, he'd been alive . . .

"Professor Quirrel?" Draco whispered. It was indeed, his DADA teacher from the first year he'd been at Hogwarts, who'd been killed when Voldemort had attacked Harry for the second time- he still wore a turban around his head, long robes, but now his formerly worried and pasty face looked merely wearied. The ghost wore thick, heavy chains that dragged behind him as he walked, unlike most other ghosts who glided weightlessly.

Quirrel sighed. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy, it is I. I have been appointed the unfortunate task of being the predecessor of three visions who will visit you tonight. Draco, you see these chains?"

Draco nodded, not really sure what to say. 

"Well, I was a servant most of my life. To my fears, to my loathsome nature, to Lord Voldemort. These chains represent the burdens I wouldn't let myself bear in life. I am now doomed to carry them for all time."

Draco gulped. He'd never been good at weight lifting.

"You, too, are a slave, Draco. You serve the fear of your father's wrath, your own haughtiness and icy nature, your apprehension of real friends, and if you continue down the road you are heading, you will be a servant of Voldemort's also. Take it from me, friend, that is not where you want to be."

Draco didn't like what he was hearing. "Who are you to tell me all this? You don't know anything about me."

"I know what I need to know for this task. I want to save you, Draco. From yourself. You, right now, are destined to carry chains and burdens as heavy if not heavier than my own. Only you can change that."

"This is a joke, right?" Draco didn't want to believe it, but in his heart he knew it was all too true.

Quirrel shook his sorry head, the chains rattling. "Sadly, no. I found out myself, the hard way. They're willing to give you a chance."

"They?" Draco asked, but Quirrel ignored this particular question.

"We're going to see if we can't influence you to become a better person. Give you some Christmas spirit."

"Christmas- bah." said Draco before he could help himself. 

"That's what I said." Quirrel said meaningfully. "And look what happened." Draco was silent. Quirrel continued. "You'll have three visitors tonight, as I believe I've said before. You may recognize some of them, but they will only be shadows personified of the beings you know. Good luck, Draco. Remember that my fate is the one that awaits you- unless you change. Farewell!"

With that, Quirrel returned from whence he came. Where that was, Draco never knew.

Draco stood staring at the spot he'd disappeared. Had that really happened? He wasn't sure.

At any rate, there were no ghostly visitors arriving, so Draco decided to turn in for an early night. He checked under the bed before he got in- and felt a little silly afterwards- but no more signs of the supernatural. Draco decided to let it go. After tossing and turning for awhile, he finally drifted off into a restless sleep, still thinking he could hear those rattling chains . . .


End file.
